The path I took curved away from the main grounds and into the older part of the woods, where the trees were more gnarled, their roots sticking out of the ground like tendrils ready to ensnare your feet as you walked.
I knew this part of the forest from ten years ago. I’d collected here almost every week back then, learning which plants grew in which conditions, which ones appeared after the rain, which ones needed the shade the most and which ones grew from the detritus of the ones who didn’t get enough of the shade.
It all looked the same. Time had barely touched it.
I stopped where the ground dipped slightly toward a shallow run of water, barely more than a trickle between mossy rocks, and crouched down. Watercress grew in dense clusters along the edge, and behind it, tucked into the damp shadow of the bank, was a low-spreading plant I’d been wanting to get my hands on since the perfume idea first formed: small, pale-stemmed, with leaves that released a clean, faintly sweet scent when crushed between the fingers.
I pulled on my gloves and started harvesting, working slowly and methodically. I carefully dug up one plant, roots and all, carefully transferring it to my bag without damaging them so I could replant it for propagation later. I cut a few other pieces off the main plant, then left the rest, not wanting to destroy the entire plant.
My mind drifted as my hands worked.
The formula was still mostly theoretical at this point, more questions than answers. The problem with werewolf botanicals wasn’t their scent; it was concentration. What made them so appealing to a wolf’s senses was exactly what made them hostile on human skin. They were too potent, too bioactive, too much of everything. I also couldn’t just dilute them in a carrier oil, either, because then they would be worthless to the werewolf senses.
So the question was whether there was a way to reduce the intensity on human skin without flattening the aromatic compounds. Keep the top notes and lose the burn. It was the same fundamental problem I’d solved in the children’s medicine, in a way. Back then, I’d modified Lycan Root to make it more useful for werewolves. This was just the other way around.

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